Terminal Frost
by Plumfragments
Summary: Merag has been suddenly crowned the new queen of the United Lands of Poseidon, but with a council of nobles and their twisted politics, and rising tensions with the empire clawing at her borders, there's nothing but a world of headaches ahead of her.
1. Dethroned and Deceased

The room stunk of nightmarish lilies.

She'd already grown tired of fake condolences. There were two flower-filled caskets laid open before them.

Nasch held his head high. He had to rush here from the temples, and the heavy ceremonial veils still lay draped over his head. Only the priests were allowed to wear white, and Nasch looked as sickly as the lilies stuffed in the caskets. She had more time to pick her dress as gray as sea salt. The opaque fabric clung close to her thin frame, and the layers of dreary tulle hid her scarred, knobby knees.

They looked like decorated corpses. They were ten years old.

"I can't believe it." Nasch said. His voice was more hollow than Merag ever wanted to hear.

She wished she could say more, but all she could muster was a grim, "I know."

"I," she could hear his teeth grind against each other, "I could have just slipped away from prayer for the day. An hour, even! I could have-"

"It's not your fault," she assured him, taking his hands into hers. She didn't have to see his expression to feel the tremors in his fingers. "It's not your fault."

There were murmurs from the funeralgoers behind them, intrusive words asking if the high priest in training was all right. They beat on her ears until she couldn't stand it any more and shouted for them all to leave. The guards barred the door out of sight, leaving the twins with stained glass windows and empty caskets.

"There's nobody here now," she told her brother, "You can cry now."

Nasch trembled. He didn't kneel, he didn't bow his head, but hastily muttered prayers slipped through his lips. "Come friends, let us not dwell in emotion. Come friends, let us not fall to the danger of sorrow. Come, let us be mindful and see the light at the edge of the swamp…"

His voice was cracking. "O, I will not hate the causes of my death. Hate not the snake that bites, the blade that cuts, the sea that swallows. The finality is an illusion, and I will not live for the end but of the peace that lies beyond, so says the great gods and those beyond…"

"Nasch," she murmured, gripping his hand tighter.

"Death is the most valuable jewel and the greatest of merits, do not weep for the departed, do not, do not—" He finally let out a mournful cry and beat his hands on his head. "I should have been there. I should have given them my blessings. I should have at least seen them off! There were no storms on the sea, how could this have happened—?"

She held her brother and let him rage on her shoulder. There were no bodies recovered from their parents' sunken ship, so she had to imagine their forms sleeping in the white caskets.

Her father was between the lilies with his gruff voice caught in his throat, never able to give her advice again. Her hand flashed to the dull blue pendant around her neck. No more days teaching her how to hold a sword. No more meetings sitting eagerly by his side.

Her mother was between the lilies with her lips pulled tightly together, strict even in sleep. No more carriage rides through the city. No more times picking out dresses from the tailors' workshops.

Nasch wept beneath his veils, and she could feel her eyes pound in her sockets. He wished he'd been at the docks, but her heart ached whenever she thought of how she stayed up late the night of their parting, throwing pillows at the wall and crying into her pillow. She was their daughter, not their political pawn! She sulked and screamed whenever they taunted her with talk of the greater good and cursed them before she slept. She stood at the docks to bid them farewell, but her goodbyes were cold and bitter. She prayed and prayed that something would go wrong, and her parents had returned formlessly in dismal reports and scattered rumors.

But they were gone, and the crown hung on her head now.

"I don't know how," she said, "but I'll find out. For them. For us."

"Can you?"

She scoffed and put on a brave face. "Are you doubting me, brother dear?"

Nasch broke his own silence with a snort. "It doesn't matter whether I do or don't, you'll do it anyway." His voice still dipped in low in places, but was more stable than before. He turned wordlessly to the caskets, and then to the doors and the people beyond it. "Are you ready?"

"Of course I am." She'd spent hours practicing her public eulogy to the mirror until every tremble and pause was smoothed over.

"I meant for the Conference. Father and mother died before they could finalize with the peace agreement with R'lyeh," his words made her lips turn down a bit at the edges, "so you're going to have to discuss what's next with the nobles. You don't think R'lyeh would just give up and turn their ships away from the border, do you?"

"No, I don't." She frowned, turning her gaze away. "It was a horrible idea, anyway."

If Nasch had noticed, he decided not to say anything. "It's time," he said, and she hardened her expression again.

The morticians shuffled in, lifted the caskets upon their shoulders, and carried the two to the shore. She held Nasch's hand in hers again, and they watched the boats bearing the formless figures and nauseous lilies float out to the sea.

Her lips were set tightly together, and she didn't look away until the boats floated out of sight to be claimed by the sea.


	2. Nation's Scene and Halfway House

**Chapter 2: Nation's Scene and Halfway House**

Politics were nothing but trying and tiresome.

The Grand Conference of the four islands had been called together for an emergency meeting. With the death of her father and mother, and an army at their border, there was no time to waste. The Conference revolved from island to island, and she sailed her ship to the westernmost Despoine, where the great while villa of the king shone in the sun. It wasn't worth it to climb all those stairs just for a gathering, she thought as she heaved her dress over marble and stone, but parties were parties. What were politics without extreme formality, anyway?

Harsh eyes were on her the moment she walked into the ballroom. The ladies hid their frowns behind their fans, and the men clenched their jaws and turned away. She kept her head high and continued walking. The nobles of Despoine, no, of any of the islands not under her rule, loathed both her and the power that she held. She'd fussed over her clothes for hours, even if Nasch did nothing but roll his eyes at her antics. If she was going to be glared at so fiercely like this, the least she could do was look good.

Lord Blackray, the current King of Despoine, was the only royal to blatantly ignore everyone that tried approaching him. He wasted no time on socializing, and went straight to the table serving wine. A downed glass later did nothing to budge the stern expression from his face. He stood a good head above everyone else, and would surely tower over her if she happened to stand by his side. He'd sliced back his black hair today, but the blue streaks framing his face were still as unkempt as ever. The dark jacket and loose pants around his lithe form hid the burns he'd sustained during one of his war campaigns, but she could spot some marred skin peeking out from the mauve edges of his clothes. Whenever he visited, Lord Blackray always shirked her company in favor of her brother's, but now she would have no choice but to deal with him, snippy attitude and all.

She dawdled by the stained glass windows, sipping idly at her drink. The less people that spoke to her, the better. Whatever they said with their poisonous tongues was nothing but nonsense.

A commotion rose up from the middle of the room as murmurs turned into a hurried frenzy of whispers. The guests cast troubled looks towards the woman who entered the room with her heels clacking on polished stone. She was definitely an eye-turner, from the glass beads strung into her powder blue dress to her crystal tipped heels. Her hair was short now, burned off from an encounter with smugglers and their fire arrows, and she hid the snipped ends with a cap of lace and teardrop diamonds. Lady Harpyia, the Queen of Arion in the north, was unquestionably lovely to the eye, and even the jagged battle scars on her long legs didn't change that at all.

Merag shuffled out of sight and desperately tried to avoid eye contact with her eccentric cousin. The crowd eyed Lady Harpyia even more cautiously than they had eyed Merag, as expected. Lady Harpyia's spy network was unparalleled throughout the four kingdoms, no matter how many times Lord Blackray said otherwise. One step out of line and she was sure to crush the offender into the dust- or so Merag's mother had said. Lady Harpyia caught her gaze through the crowd and shot a coy smile. Merag returned the gesture, but quickly returned to her glass.

This stuffy place was a prison of dignified attire and red wine. The windows looked so tempting to vault out of, but then she'd be no more dignified than Nasch. She slid over to the refreshment table, picking up some stuffed clams to munch on in the meantime.

"Oh my, you look wonderful today, Lady Merag." There was only one person that silvery voice could belong to. Merag quickly put on a smile, one less strained than before. Out of all the nobles, Lady Ondyne was the closest to her age, and one of the most tolerable ones. Her long wavy hair had been braided into a tight bun, and her eyelids were powdered a pale blue. She held herself delicately, and wore a navy blue dress of layered lace that lightly brushed the floor and made her look like she was floating. A necklace of sharp pointed crystals fanned out along her pale collarbone and glinted dangerously in the light. As the Queen of Rhode in the east, nobody dared stand by her side for too long, but she drifted along and spoke with whoever she chose to.

"Thank you, Lady Ondyne."

"Have you tried the berry platter?" Lady Ondyne was now plum-lipped, but what could have easily been a dreadful dye looked flattering.

Merag laughed and shook her head. "No, I'm not really in the mood for food."

"Ah, yes. This is your first Conference, right?"

She nodded, but Lady Ondyne just playfully pinched her arm. "Well, you're strong enough. Shape up! It's a battleground in there. You'll get no mercy."

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Lord Blackray's gruff voice boomed through the ballroom. "Thank you for your patience, and I welcome all of you to Despoine for the Grand Conference. Please enjoy the buffet and refreshments. In the meantime, my fellow royals, please follow me to the Red Room." He gestured towards a set of ornately decorated metal doors, heaved open by five servants each.

Lady Ondyne linked arms with Merag, nudging her lightly in the ribs. "Come on, we have to go."

The Red Room was accurately named. A wide stained glass window overlooked the joined sea between the four islands and made each undulating wave shine with a different color. A large round mahogany table stood strong in the middle of the room, lined with four stalwart wooden chairs. There were no guards inside the room, but Merag could hear their boots stomping outside right before the thick doors thudded shut. The other royals strode to their chairs, and Merag stood behind the last one available.

She straightened her back and swallowed her breath. "My fellow Kings and Queens, thank you for coming together so quickly. As the one who summoned us all here," she said, her voice growing stronger and stronger, "I call that the Grand Conference of the Four Kingdoms begin."

They all took their seats. "Queen of Telos," Lord Blackray said, "You have the floor."

Merag curled her fingers in towards her palms. This wouldn't be easy. "The Empire of R'lyeh is at our door. We can't let them stay there any longer."

Lady Harpyia snapped open her fan with a sharp swish. "They haven't actually bypassed the border between our kingdoms and theirs, but their warships are still staring us down. How bold of them."

Lord Blackray crossed his arms firmly over his chest. "Obviously they're just waiting to attack us. They'll just gather up more arms and supplies the more we wait. Are we just going to let them stay there? We'll seem weak."

"Don't be a fool," Lady Harpyia's honeyed voice was as sharp as needles, "This is obviously one of the emperor's ploys. Lord Asteron likes that, you know? He'll lure us into attacking first and if we lose, we'll shoulder all the blame and be executed by our own people. It's his favorite tactic."

Merag frowned. Not even five minutes and this was going nowhere. "We can talk all we want about who did what, but the question is what are we all going to do?"

"Didn't the late King and Queen of Telos try to negotiate peace with R'lyeh?" Lady Ondyne said, and Merag felt the hairs on her neck bristle. "They died before they could even meet the Lord Asteron for the final terms, and there were no witnesses to the ship sinking." She gave her fellow royals a light shrug. "Doesn't that seem a little too convenient?"

"Unfortunately, there's no proof," Lady Harpyia spoke up. Her normally cool expression was marred with a faint frown. "Not even one additional ship of the R'lyehian navy was dispatched, and the ones already on the sea didn't deviate from their routes. The accompanying ships traveling before and after their majesties didn't spot any abnormalities, either. Even if R'lyeh decided to hire mercenaries or pirates to attack their majesties, any ship would have had to pass at least one to get to them. As suspicious as it is, it's sadly, impossible."

Lady Ondyne wasn't fazed. "Your spies are unparalleled, Queen of Arion, but you can't say that you might have not overlooked something."

Lady Harpyia hid her lips behind her fan and said nothing, but Merag could spot a cruel smirk curling up her cousin's face.

It didn't seem as if Lady Ondyne was done. She cooly glanced at Merag, and Merag had to suppress a shudder. In that glance, it was clear that she'd receive no mercy. In this politics, there could be no friendship. "Queen of Telos," came that light voice that seemed suddenly so harsh, "do you plan on continuing your parents' work?"

The floor was on Merag. She sat up straighter and took a deep breath. "No, I won't."

Now that plunged the room into silence. Lord Blackray didn't even bother to hide his frown. "Why not? It's just a marriage. The crown prince Vector isn't nearly as vicious and demanding as his father."

Merag scoffed, tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder. "He's frail. Marry him?" She wanted to sneer at the thought. "All I did was give him a light shove, and he fell down and started crying. He's better off playing with his pet rabbits than being my husband."

"Isn't that better? You can easily manipulate him into doing what you want." Lady Ondyne leaned back in her chair. "Don't you want to exert your influence over R'lyeh once Lord Asteron dies?"

"Better? If that's what you want to call better, that's your own definition," Merag's eyes thinned, "Even my brother wouldn't have had any trouble getting right back up without complaint. To think that I'd marry someone so pitiful is insulting, Queen of Rhode."

"Aren't you selfish?" Lady Harpyia raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Aren't we all? If you're all so desperate for a royal to marry into the R'lyehian family, then why don't you have my brother marry him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Lord Blackray growled, "Lord Nasch has his duties to the temples. You know he can't marry anyone."

"Then why don't you do it, King of Despoine?" Merag put on her sweetest smile. "Didn't your wife die recently? You're a much better candidate than someone like me."

Lord Blackray snorted and narrowed his eyes at her. "Cheeky brat."

She nodded at the compliment. "I'm not marrying. Especially not someone spineless like _him_."

"Either way, R'lyeh is on hold at the moment," Lord Blackray grumbled. "The former empress just died, after all. Lord Asteron claims that he needs time to mourn her death, so there won't be war for at least a week."

"Mourn her death," Lady Harpyia giggled, "The thought! They never agreed on anything."

"Unfortunately, that works against us," Lady Ondyne scowled in her chair, "The only things that could have possibly slipped past the guard ships unnoticed would be the disgusting serpents of her late imperial majesty. If Lord Asteron never got along with his mother, there's no way he could have possibly convinced her to do anything like an assassination. She'd turn down the proposal just because it came from him."

"Lord Asteron doesn't have an ounce of magical talent inside him," Lady Harpyia cooly replied, "Her late imperial majesty made no secret of her displeasure with that fact. _That_ works in our favor, since we don't have to face those dreadful creatures of hers. It's much easier to kill men than monsters."

Lady Ondyne pursed her lips together. "I thought we were trying to find a peaceful resolution. Or have we changed our minds?"

Merag's frown was deepening more and more. "R'lyeh has been wanting to grab our lands for generations. They want our ports, our soil, and everything we have. My father always told me how he had to keep R'lyeh's late imperial majesty from grabbing Telos from right beneath him. We've bartered and negotiated, and there's still a fleet on our borders. They won't listen to us unless we fight."

"You're quite brave for saying that, Queen of Telos," Lord Blackray dryly said, "Out of the four of us, Telos has the smallest military. And you have no personal experience on the battlefield. Do you intend to fight the empire's navy all by yourself?"

It took all of Merag's self control to keep her expression neutral. "No, not by myself." She pulled her spine straight, and stood, throwing her voice around the room. "My fellow Kings and Queens, let's be realistic. Let's say R'lyeh attacks- which it will. Telos will fight, and if I'm defeated, then Lord Asteron will have access to the center of our islands, and be able to tear you all down with ease. Either we all fight, or we all fall. But we can't do that if we're arguing against each other."

All of the attention was on her. She'd thought this over again and again, and she wasn't going to let this chance all go to waste. Her heart froze into hard ice, and she looked to all the lords without faltering. "As individual islands, we're weak in the face of an empire's forces. So, I propose an alliance between the four of us. We'll unite our ports, our resources, our economies, and most importantly, our militaries. Even if R'lyeh decides to attack one of us, then the other three will funnel in support to keep a strong front. That way, we won't break even under siege."

The three royals stared in silence, but Merag held herself strong. The quietness was heavy on her shoulders, but she was willing to stand as long as she needed to.

Lord Blackray slowly broke the silence. "So now you're saying that we should work together? Interesting proposal, Queen of Telos. In that case, we need counsels, written agreements-"

"Oh, stop dodging," Lady Harpyia harshly cut him off, "We're all thinking the same thing, but nobody has the courage to say it. 'If there's going to be an alliance, then one of us four is going to have to step up and be the leader.' Which means that the other three will lose their position." She leaned on her hands and put on an elegant smile. "So," she said with sweetness on her tongue, "which one is it going to be?"

"I announce my candidacy," Merag said, raising her hand. "It was my parents that reached out first for negotiations. If it comes to actually fighting a war, it's my responsibility to finish what they started."

Lord Blackray was the next to stand, "I mean no offense, but Despoine has fought far more wars than your kingdom has. We're used to taking military action, and R'lyeh wouldn't stand a chance under our guidance."

"Rhode is closest to the empire," Lady Ondyne said, more firm than willowy in her chair, "If R'lyeh decides to attack, my kingdom will be the first to lose men. I'll bear full responsibility to lead the vanguard."

Merag frowned. This was going nowhere. Every person would vote for themselves and leave the kingdoms with no defensive strategies. She was queen for two weeks and she already felt her stomach churn with nausea. Politics? It was more like propping useless barriers before action.

"Aren't you all convincing?" Lady Harpyia teased, "In that case, I cast my vote for the Queen of Telos."

Merag's eyes widened. She almost didn't believe her ears until Lady Ondyne let out a loud gasp. "For Lady Merag? Why her, Queen of Arion? She just ascended to her position a few weeks ago!"

"I thought this was based off majority rule," Lady Harpyia bluntly said, her smile unmoving. "Or are we now bartering with each other for titles?"

There was no more dissent after that.

Lady Harpyia glanced at Merag, ushering her to stand. "So, what will our alliance be called? I hope you don't consider calling this new union 'Telos', like your home island."

Merag stood, "No, of course not. The four islands will keep their names. Telos, Despoine, Rhode, Arion- they will all still be known by what they are now. But as a kingdom, no, as a union, we'll be something different. All of us share the Poseidon Ocean, so why don't we use that as our name? Instead of four separate kingdoms, we will be known as the Four Islands of the Poseidon Ocean."

"I think the 'Four Islands' sounds split apart," Lady Ondyne said, "Why not call us the 'United Lands' instead?"

Merag nodded. "Yes, I think that works out just fine. From today forth, our four front alliance shall be known as the United Lands of the Poseidon Ocean. I may be your new queen, but I don't intend to kick you all out of power. You will be my council, and we'll continue these meetings as we've always done. You'll continue governing your islands as you've always done, as my dukes and duchesses. I hope that sounds satisfactory to you."

"As long as you don't wrestle away our economics, then I don't see a problem." Lady Ondyne shot Merag a sly wink. "Don't worry, we'll support you to the end. Now, should we let our people know of the decision?"

"Yes. In a week, we meet R'lyeh at the border."

The announcement was more well-received than Merag imagined, with only twenty minutes of loud whispering and only three broken wine glasses. As much as she liked attention, the way some of the nobles were eyeing her with requests on their tongues for the queen of their new country just made her want to slip away into a corner. Or throw them all out the window. Either one worked.

She spotted Lady Harpyia lounging in a chair by the wine table, munching on spicy oysters, contently ignoring the rest of the rabble.

"Lady Harpyia," Merag approached her, trying to keep her back straight. Lady Harpyia looked up from beneath her heavy eyelashes, and Merag found herself stumbling for words. What could she say? Lady Harpyia had handed her the crown, and willingly lowered her own position. She wrung her hands, and tried not to puff up her cheeks. "Thank you very much for your support-"

"Oh don't do that," the woman replied, her eyes fixed on Merag's joined quickly broke them apart, but Lady Harpyia didn't comment. She offered Merag a seat and held up the plate. "Oyster?"

"No thank you," Merag said, smoothing out her skirt. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm just a little surprised you didn't want the throne yourself."

Lady Harpyia let out a light laugh and shook her head, silk and beads clinking together. "Really, do you honestly think I could live the ascetic life? It's fine when it's just my kingdom, all my people are eccentric as well. But all four kingdoms looking at me- I'd have to actually tone down my personal life. No more lavish parties and gorging myself on sweetcakes without getting disapproving looks from everyone. The title's not worth it."

"Then why me?"

"If you didn't want to be queen, you shouldn't have announced your candidacy."

"No, it was my responsibility," Merag firmly replied. "I half expected you to say that I was too young."

"You'd be surprised what young people can do," Lady Harpyia let out a snort. "Lord Blackray's an excellent general, but he's too stiff. He doesn't have the flexibility to deal with four islands' worth of dissent. Lady Ondyne is cunning, but she doesn't have the spine to withstand a long assault."

"A long assault?"

"Oh yes," Lady Harpyia spooned another oyster into her mouth. "The R'lyehian royal family is a frightening one. If they're slighted, they don't stop until their accuser is dead." She chewed her food slowly, but a frown curled her lips down. "I still remember when my father took me there when I was young, and the previous empress still reigned. She was terrifying, even without the crown on her head."

"The late empress?"

"Oh, yes. The whole family's mad, you know. That woman with those three serpents of hers just smiled at my father and I behind her son. After a while, you can tell what sort of person someone is by looking at their eyes. Lord Asteron's violent, but blunt and obnoxiously truthful. His mother… she was just waiting for my father to say something wrong. The kind of woman that loves seeing other people die."

Without a single notice, Lady Harpyia quickly sprung back to her amused, unbothered self, "Luckily for us, Lord Asteron doesn't have an ounce of magic in his blood like his mother. And if the crown prince is… what did you call him?"

"What _didn't_ I call him?"

"Of course. Quite surprising that he's so feeble then, considering his bloodline. But either way, it's unlikely his mother will let her son fight in a war just yet. Nobody's quite sure if he has magic or not, but that will be a hurdle to crush when it appears. As for the war now- and it's very much a war- it'll be a much easier to fight if we don't have to deal with those creatures of theirs."

Merag leaned in closer at that, a frown mottling her brow. "Creatures? You just said she had snakes."

"…Snakes…well, I suppose they are snakes, in one way or another. R'lyeh is a land of mysticism and magic. You didn't honestly think they _wouldn't _have otherworldly creatures serving them, did you?" Lady Harpyia stood up from her seat, handing her empty plate to a passing servant. "Don't worry, you'll be fine," she said, winking over her shoulder at Merag. "We're all counting on you."

Merag was left frowning in her chair. She clasped her hands together and wrung them until her palms bled.

She was queen, and her kingdom was going to war.


	3. Beyond the Extreme Sea-Wall

"I can't believe you're holding one of the most important ceremonies on the day I have to leave."

"You can't believe it? I can't believe you're going to lead the vanguard."

She narrowed her eyes and adjusted the sword at her side. It was heavy, and far more beautiful in the light than her practice swords. There wouldn't be practice on the seas, even though the same sun would shine down. Her armor was weighty on her body, too golden "Blackray, Ondyne, and Harpyia are all going to lead their men. Some queen I'd be if I didn't join them."

"Generals go off to war while their queen stays off the front lines." Nasch frowned at her until she was forced to look at him. "That's what queens _do_."

Merag put her hands on her hips. "Nasch, really. You wouldn't take your own advice."

Nasch folded up his scrolls and put it all in a basket with his ornate glass jars of powders. "That doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. You're not being honest with yourself."

He turned away and picked up his basket. "Mother and father just died. I'm not losing you, too."

She shook her head and smirked. Typical. "Do you _really _think some empire is going to kill**me**?"

"They'd better not," Nasch retorted with a snort.

"Pray hard for me, brother dear."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled as he pulled his white veil over his face. He gave her a small wave as he took his leave. "You'll have the wind with you and calm seas even if I have to triple the offerings to Abyss."

She smiled sadly at that, but Nasch was already out of earshot before she could respond.

Ondyne couldn't stop laughing. Merag frowned and crossed her arms, but Ondyne didn't seem to quite pick up on the hint. Or she just didn't really care- that seemed far more likely. "Ah, his eminence is really the stubborn one!" she finally managed to speak between giggles. "You two make such a duo."

"It's not _that_ funny."

"It is! I wish I got along just as well with my sister Sanda, but we can't _all_ get what we want. Maybe it's the magic of being born as twins?"

Merag's cheeks puffed out and she pulled her arms tighter over her chest. "Nasch isn't that easy to get along with! He's a bully that steals my things when I'm not looking!"

"Don't you steal his things too?"

A chill of guilt ran down Merag's neck, and she winced at the floor.

"That makes me miss not seeing him in- has it really been a year now?"

It felt like far longer than that. One year ago, Ondyne had sailed to Telos with bundles of her favorite roses and stacked platters of the fruits of the late harvest. Merag remembered her parents fussing over how brash and rude Queen of Rhode was, and warned Merag to cut off her friend. They seemed a little disheartened when all Ondyne did was chat with Merag about the latest gossip and badmouth just about every noble in the four islands. There was that glimmer of disappointment in her father's eyes, but he should have known better. Even at seven, Merag could spot sweet words, but Ondyne was nothing but daggers.

"I'd leave the manipulation to Harpyia," Ondyne scoffed when Merag told her that. "Or maybe to Blackray- then we can all get a good laugh."

Ondyne's sharp tongue threw everyone off with her demure looks, but Merag still hadn't expected her to be waiting aboard the royal flagship. Ondyne's long hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and her tailored armor still seemed to jut out awkwardly from her body. Even though Merag knew all about Ondyne's accomplishments on the sea, her friend looked far too innocent to actually kill a man.

Then again, so did she.

"About that long. But you really didn't have to come on my ship."

"You stop that," Ondyne waved off Merag's complaints with a flick of her sharp nails. "What sort of admiral would let her young queen go into her first war unprotected? And more importantly, what sort of person would I be if I didn't support my friend?"

Merag smiled earnestly. Somehow, it felt good. "Thank you, Lady Ondyne."

"Enough with that Lady stuff," Ondyne sighed, rolling out a map before the navigator. "We're going out to war, and if I die, I'm not going to die being some stuffy Lady. And if you die- which you won't, but let's say you do- you really want to be known as some boring old child Queen or as Merag?"

Why in the name of all the Gods, Ondyne put herself up for candidacy was a mystery, but Merag let the duchess' words settle in. "I'll consider it, Sylphie."

Ondyne snorted with laughter and turned to the maps. "On seas this calm, they'll spot us when we're about thirty minutes away from the border."

"So, a sneak attack's impossible." Merag frowned at that, and readjusted the sword on her hip. The blade the armory had given her was about half her height, and clunked on the floor if it wasn't tightly secure. She gave it a good slap to keep it in place, and turned to the maps Ondyne had rolled out.

The pictures on parchment looked so plain for a venue of war. Her glare pierced through the flimsy map like a blade, as if she was trying to command it to change her luck. "Lord Asteron chose the flattest part of the border to fight. Probably planned this all out." She clicked her tongue and turned to Ondyne. "How many ships did Harpyia say were stationed there?"

Ondyne sighed and flicked at the corners of the map. "Forty-three. Lord Asteron's sailing back to R'lyeh so the royal flagship won't be there." She idly counted on her fingers, "I guess five of Lord Asteron's admirals will lead the fleet. Those are almost insulting numbers." She handed the spyglass to Merag and fixed the quiver on her back. "Well, it'll make their defeat all the more humiliating!"

Forty-three ships with five admirals. The admirals would probably be encircled by their lesser ships to ensure their command would go unimpeded. She'd have to plow her way through at least one ship to get to even one of them.

A clamor of stomping feet and worried murmurs caught Merag's ear. She peeked her head out of the room into a frenzy of soldiers dashing up and down, all gathering their weapons and trying not to bump into the men at the oars. One spearman dashed by the door, and she snagged his arm with her small hands. "What's going on? Are we being attacked?"

The soldier fumbled into a bow. "No, your royal highness. There's a thick fog up ahead. The navigators are deciding whether to turn around it or not."

Fog! Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lips tinged up at the corners. Thank you, Nasch! She'd be sure to order the cooks to pick out the onions and peppers for the next month! "Tell them to sail on ahead."

"My lady?"

"That was an order! Signal Blackray and Harpyia's ships to do the same! Hurry!" She let go of his arm and gave him a light shove towards the stairs, and he quickly scampered away.

"Merag?" she must have been beaming, because Ondyne was looking at her with a hesitant smile. Her heart swelled up in her chest and she stormed across the room, with her arms swinging and energy flaring through every vein. "All praise Abyss! There's a thick fog up ahead. They'll never see us coming!"

Ondyne snorted, but a smirk dashed to her face. "Speak for yourself. He sunk three of my ships with one of his maelstroms. But I'll give him a pass this time."

Merag strode out, past the buzzing, frantic soldiers, and up onto the deck. She screamed for battle stations through the contained chaos. The sea lapped against the side of the ship, and the fog wet her cheeks. Her lungs tasted salt, sweat, and mist.

She could make out half-formed shadows in the mist. The R'lyehian ships stretched out far across the horizon and loomed large and tall, the smallest of their sails enough to smother half her ship from bowsprit to the main mast.

"Your royal highness, their ships are at least twice our size." One of the soldiers by her side muttered, his fingers trembling along his spear.

"That just means we're faster." She hoped, she only hoped.

She tensed her body, sensing a trap. Would they light their arrows and cut through the fog? Would they throw pitch and set her and her soldiers ablaze?

Harpyia's words of magic and mystery pounded in her head. _Magic. They could use magic._How could she fight something against something she didn't understand? Could she deflect pulses of energy that would tear through her nerves like fire on oil? Magic, what was magic anyway? Nasch with his eyes that saw beyond the waters and a thousand powders in glass jars was human, no matter what the priests said. Blessed by Abyss or nothing, her brother wasn't one of the abominations on those giant ships. His white robes and golden bands gave her nothing.

She swallowed that awful lump in her throat and looked towards the flickering lights floating through the fog. Flames of R'lyehian torches. Her men stampeded across the decks, tensing for battle, the way she should be tensing, too.

The wardrums sounded, taut and rhythmic for the battle ahead.

These soldiers had never faced the militaristic might of the empire of R'lyeh. Even the previous empress had preferred to use her words and magic than incite an actual war. Merag's sword trembled in her hip, and she raised a nervous hand to steady it. Ondyne strode to her side, signaling the archers with a swish of her hand. Their javelins wouldn't do much at this distance- R'lyeh had the height advantage.

Arrows hissed like snakes, and she raised her shield over her head. An ambitious arrowhead rammed through her shield, and scraped her thumb. The blood trickled down her shield, and she watched it slowly drip down. She was queen, and her royal title drew the arrows to her. She had no shield of gold and jewels now. She was ten years old, and she was going to die.

A thunderous crack like an axe whittling through timber sounded off the portside, as a R'lyehian ship drove its hull into a nearby ship. Wooden beams cracked and splintered, and the small ship didn't stand a chance. It was one of her ships lost, the first of many. She ground her teeth. She had sworn to remember each of her captains' names, but her mind was a blank slate as he vanished beneath their lives. Dying men didn't scream for their kingdom or their ruler, only for their own lives.

She heard men scream as swirling flames burned steadily through the ship ahead of her. The black pitch swelled with searing heat and ate through the ship's bones, sending men and wood tumbling into the water. Her father had told her there was fire in war, but watching orange flicker, burn, and scream made her want to curl up and hide beneath the deck.

One of her ships surged forward, oars beating against the waters. She spotted Blackray at the helm, having wrestled it away from his cowering navigator. His ship left a gaping hole in the middle of the enemy ship, and water gushed in. The red sails wobbled, as if the ship were drunk, and within minutes, the ship was on the verge of toppling over.

"Look at that," Ondyne scoffed, jerking her head towards the R'lyehian ship swallowed up the waves. "That's the second ship Blackray sank. Amazing."

"Are we really going to let him show us up, Sylphie?" she half joked.

Ondyne chuckled, stringing another arrow into her bow, "Yes, we are. He's probably competing with Harpyia over who destroys the most ships. We shouldn't get in the middle of that."

She jerked her head back. Behind the ship Blackray had felled, standing at the bow, was a R'lyehian admiral with a red cape pinned around his shoulders. He was enraptured by the battle behind him, and had yet to turn around.

"Hold!" she yelled back. Hold until they were closer. Wood skimmed wood. The deck trembled beneath her feet. She spotted the archers pulling back their arms, and shouted to fire. A flurry of arrows picked off the R'lyehian archers, and they toppled over the rail into the water.

Why, she thought, why weren't they using their magic? It should have been easy to just sink her fleet if there were magicians on board.

Her lips pressed together. _If_ there were magicians on board. Pitch and sword and shield and spear were all mundane weapons. A spark jolted her heart. She could do this. They had no magic- she could do this!

The oars pounded on the water as her ship surged forward, and she grit her teeth as the ships crashed together. Her legs trembled, and she felt like her bones would shatter. Her teeth clanged violently together, and she grabbed the mast for support. The floor felt like it would give out beneath her, and how the wood _screamed_. Oarsmen dropped out of the R'lyehian vessel, some chained to their work, others struggling above the water. Her ship heaved back, and she braced herself again.

They connected with a splintering smash, rocking the R'lyehian ship, and sending her legs out from beneath her.

Shouts and steel clashing. Fire crackling and oars splashing. War was so loud, and she wanted to hold her hands over her ears until she turned deaf. The corners of her eyes burned, and she gulped in salt and smoke. She couldn't think of the screams clawing at her ears, or else she'd want to crawl away.

A barrel exploded into flame behind her, and her head rattled as she hit the deck. Her chest ached. She felt herself instinctively curl up, and she wanted to scream for her parents, for Nasch, for someone to come hold her and take her away.

She'd loosed the arrow of war. It was her responsibility to watch where it fell, but it had been lit with flame and it was burning into her brain, and she had to get out of there, crawl across the water back home—

"Merag!"

Someone was calling her name. Maybe she was just imagining it, like she was imagining the confusion of soldiers and blades in front of her.

"Merag!" She was jolted up and forward. Ondyne had her hand, pulling her along. Her teeth rattled in her skull as she ran and ran and _ran_. An arrow clipped her cheek, and she felt the metal blue fleur-de-lis of her personal crest bounce on her breastplate, much louder than her pounding heart. The enemy was shooting arrows tipped with fire now, and she flinched as the heat seared her golden armor bronze. Her soldiers had slung grappling hooks across the enemy ship's rail, and both she and Ondyne lead the charge over the splintered wood forming a shaky bridge into the gallery.

The wood was wet, and slippery against her sabatons. She darted in, past the bulky rowers, collecting stray arrows and tossing them back to Ondyne, who'd expertly loosed every one into whoever stood up against her. Merag stormed up the stairs, darting her way past flesh, under steel, and onto the deck. Her target with his cloak of red turned towards her, and she broke into a dash. Ondyne's arrows whizzed past her head, blocked steel with steel, and slid metal through flesh. A man charged at her, even taller with the white feathers on his helmet, and she left a bloody gash along his exposed stomach. She cleaved off limbs, opened bodies and rattled her blade against shields.

The enemy admiral drew his blade, and it whistled right over her head. She angled her sword towards his gut but a sharp pain at the back of her head sent her stumbling. Her neck snapped back and she howled in pain. His ugly fingers were knotted in her blue locks, and she felt a blaze burning in her throat. She thrust her sword back until she felt metal tense against flesh, and the handle rattled when she hit the bones in his hand. Now! Now, now, now!

A scream tore out of her throat; so raw and feral that she hardly recognized it as her own, and out came the blade from the admiral's hand. Warm blood hit her cheeks and she pulled her sword to her chest, just like she'd done so many times in practice. He kneeled over, bending his hand close in pain, and that was when she thrust her sword forward, away from all his armor. One deadly arc cleaved through sinew and bone. His head didn't go flying like the way she pictured in her adrenaline filled daydreams, but slid forward. His body refused to die; stood strong and firm until it succumbed to reality and fell forward. Thud, her sabatons were splattered red.

Her lungs were dry, and she panted, wanting to listen to her screaming legs. Just a small kneel would have been enough, but she soon had to duck out of the way from a volley of arrows. How foolish she was, she bitterly thought, to think it would have ended with the admiral!

She weaved out of the way from a slash aiming at her head. Merag turned, sword at the ready, but her assaulter already had steel through his tongue. Ondyne kicked the man overboard; her sword leaving a streak of red in the air as she returned it to her side. "Really," she sighed, skewering a man who'd tried to sneak up behind her. "I'm so terrible with swords."

Soldiers swarmed both of them, blades drawn to taste their flesh, but they ducked, twisted and parried out of the corner. One blade cut into Merag's side, right between the sheets of her armor, and she let out a cry, stumbling back. Ondyne pulled her bowstring back as a soldier charged her from behind, and Merag lunged her blade right before Ondyne's neck bled. The strike had cut Ondyne's hairtie in two, and her long hair fell in waves around her shoulders.

"All of you!" Ondyne shouted out, her voice in full viciousness, "Stop lazing around! Support your queen!" She jerked her chin towards their ship, and Merag understood, taking off, weaving past steel and blood. She leapt over corpses, and tried not to stumble on the slicked deck. All around her, soldiers of both colors coughed; some still fighting, most of them against the deck dying. She was too hazy to feel tired, wipe away her potential tears, think of anyone else. The open wounds on her body were biting and raw, but she kept running.

She would cut down anyone that dared meet her. She was not going to be the sheath to any steel sword. She was going to live and by the Gods, nobody had better get in her way.

The makeshift bridge was still there between the two ships, and darted across it. It was made of stray wood and was weak with water and splinters, and shifted beneath her feet. More, more energy she pushed into her legs as the bridged slipped from beneath her. If she hit the water, her armor would pull her down until water filled her lungs and the world went cold and black. Breathless and panting, she made one desperate leap towards the rail, and she smashed against the side, her fingers snagging the very edge. Her armor was heavy and harsh, flushing her fingers bright red at the joints. An arrow embedded itself in the wood by her side, and she hadn't the courage to look back. She nearly slid down in surprise, but she was so weak and weary, that she couldn't pull herself up. This was it, she thought, here she'd hang and be shot by some ambitious archer.

A soldier in the browns and blues of Poseidon gripped her hands tightly, and hauled her over the rail as arrows nipped at her heels. She muttered her thanks to him and quickly joined Ondyne, who was kneeling by the helm.

"Did you do it?" Ondyne asked. Her pretty face was smudged with dirt, and the arrows in her quiver were decorated with fabric and flesh.

Merag silently presented the scrap of red she'd torn from the admiral's cloak, and Ondyne's eyes glittered.

"Not bad!" she exclaimed, playfully wrapping her arm around Merag's shoulder.

Merag's first instinct was to protest, but she leaned into Ondyne's shoulder. She felt her age now, but she was too weary to cry.

Ondyne blinked her wide eyes, but didn't push Merag away. "Pull back!" she roared out.

"No," Merag muttered, "We have to keep going. We only took down one ship…" They had to take down a fifth of the invading force to stall them. She had to, she had to…

"One. We'll crush anything that comes close," Ondyne assured her. "You're not taking on the R'lyehian fleet all by yourself. You have other ships. Let's just be witnesses until some morons challenge us, okay?"

The crimson R'lyehian flag was consumed by orange and went up in a plume of flame. It danced against her eyes, and she watched it drop from the mast into the water. Her ship lurched back, leaving a lazy trail of foam, and she clutched that red scrap until her knuckles turned white.

They'd won the day.


	4. A Silver Splendor

Merag couldn't even force herself to smile.

R'lyeh had sunk more of her ships, but Poseidon had killed more of their men. One of their admirals were dead, cut down by her own sword, and she'd already received word that Blackray and Harpyia were stubbornly alive. She sipped her wine, and looked at the straight line of giant ships. She had offered R'lyeh a ceasefire, and they'd surprisingly agreed.

She thanked the Gods that they did, because these battles were chipping away at her. She hadn't lost as many men as she expected to, but the war had gone badly. Four days at sea, and her armor had lost its shine. Her personal emblem had suffered a small chip on the battlefield, and dangled sadly from her waist.

Ceasefires meant talks. Talks meant an exchange of terms. They were meeting on one of the R'lyehian ships for talks. The moment Blackray and Harpyia arrived, she'd have to walk into the enemy's stronghold. She reviewed her points over in her head, and grumbled when she couldn't recite them all perfectly. She had to be poised and stiff, or else they'd attack her for her weaknesses. Neither side had won, but R'lyeh was bound to push towards any agreements that could weaken Poseidon. Weaken her. She sunk back in her chair and passed a hand over her eyes. The talks hadn't even begun, and she was getting a headache.

She looked down, and there was a dead seagull in her lap.

Merag picked it up by its foot and shook it. It swung limply back and forth, and she was almost disappointed that it didn't spring to life and try to fly away. There was a small red hole in its breast, and if she held it up to the light, she could see a sliver of light worm through. "Sylphie, what am I supposed to do with this?"

"Anything! Play with it if you want."

Merag sighed, and tossed the seagull back to Ondyne. The enemy had been pacified, but the R'lyehian admirals were bound to give her trouble. Who knows what headaches they'd give her with their unreasonable demands? She'd heard more than enough stories from her father, of R'lyehian wordplay and written agreements so confusing and open-ended that resolved nothing. Her position was slightly more favorable in leading the talks, but it was a small advantage that would shrink the more the discussions dragged on.

She was jolted from her thoughts by the seagull flopping before her. Ondyne was covering her face with its body, and moving its wings up and down with her fingers. It almost looked like the seagull was alive, and waving its feathers sternly at her. "Merag!" Ondyne said, imitating a seagull's high pitched cry, "Stop worrying! You won the war. All you have to do is have one dull meeting and you can go home."

"But we didn't actually win anything-" The seagull beat her head with its wings and she shrieked, batting it away.

"You're not fighting, so that doesn't matter!" lectured the dead seagull, "Stop overthinking things! Be glad with what good you have!"

She snorted, and Ondyne lowered the seagull from her face. "Hey, I see a smile!"

Merag grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not a little kid."

"It worked, so say whatever you want! And I'll believe that when you hit your teens" Ondyne sang, tossing the seagull in the air, and Merag rolled her eyes.

"Ondyne!" came a gruff shout. In strode Blackray, heavy on the floorboards. Blood smudged to his purple and orange armor, and his fingers were blackened with sword oil. "You had better not walk out with that smile."

Ondyne waved the dead seagull his way. "If it isn't Blackray. Someone's in a good mood. I guess you won the competition with Harpyia?"

"Of course I did! Five to four."

"Hah! R'lyeh must be fuming."

Blackray stood straight and proud. "They'll have no choice but to listen to every demand we give."

Merag reached up to pat Blackray's shoulder, but could only reach his side at most. "Not bad."

"Yeah, I guess your warmongering comes in handy sometimes," Ondyne snapped, and Blackray's expression turned sour.

"You should show me some respect."

"I'll show you more respect when Despoine does more than just manufacture metal goods and members of the clergy. In fact, you should be the one respecting _me_!"

"Says the girl with a seagull."

Merag chuckled. Her heart was a melted icicle, but their banter was solidifying her, little by little. "You're much more soft spoken in political meetings, Sylphie."

"Well, I'm not speaking as a duchess now, am I? I can turn off those awful filters and be myself."

The chatter came to a strangled halt the moment Harpyia walked in. Her makeup was perfectly in place and tiny flowers cascaded off her hat and nestled in her hair. Her dress was made of ruffles and feathers, and her nails were as red as the bloodied sea.

"What are you wearing?" Ondyne gaped, pinching Harpyia's dress. "Did you actually have that sent all the way out here?"

Harpyia merely flicked her fan, knocking the seagull out of Ondyne's hand. "I had it stored in my personal quarters on my ship. We had to win, so there was bound to be a talk like this sooner or later. The rest of you just aren't prepared."

Ondyne snorted, but Blackray seemed preoccupied with the visible dents and scrapes on his armor. "Don't bother," she grumbled back at him, "You look terrible in a formal clothing. Battle armor's much better for a warmonger like you."

Blackray flicked Ondyne on her forehead, but Merag ignored it all, lost in thought. Harpyia glittered like morning frost, and she was so dull in comparison to her duchess. "Harpyia." She sucked in a deep breath, "Can you lend me some jewelry?"

Harpyia was mercifully quiet as she looked Merag up and down. Slowly and delicately, she unclasped the diamond necklace from her neck and placed it gingerly around Merag's.

The links slid roughly against her skin, and the diamonds hardened her heart. She wasn't miserably melting any more. She was a glacier that put the diamonds around her neck to shame."Sylphie," Merag said, catching the duchess' attention, "Don't hold back."

"Are you _sure_, Merag? I'm really not nice to warmongers."

"Positive."

Ondyne's smile stretched her cheeks thin, and Blackray shot her a withering a look.

"All right," Merag said, "Let's go end this awful war."

She strode into the sun.

The sky blazed a bright blue, unmarred by even a single cloud. The mist had vanished with the battle, and the sun was fierce and burned her eyes. Shielding her eyes wasn't an option. She'd be weak in an instant if she did so.

They weren't alone. R'lyehian soldiers had climbed onto every possible vantage point to watch the proceedings. Huddled together and crowding the deck made them look like regular men instead of the soldiers she'd fought on the seas.

The gap between her and the enemy was shrinking fast.

"Who is that?" Merag whispered, tilting her head at the woman standing between the admirals. She was too fluid to be part of the military, and too regal to be a soldier. Her white dress looked out of place between the blood red capes of her generals.

"Lord Asteron's wife, the empress Ilene. Prince Vector's mother." Lord Blackray whispered back. "Better for us to get the person who knows the least about battle."

"But she's from R'lyeh!"

"Married into the family. Doesn't share her husband's zeal for war. Much softer. Too soft."

Lord Asteron's wife was a willowy figure. Even the jewelry she wore failed to add any color to her cheeks, so she dusted her eyelids with lilac and tinged her lips scarlet. She greeted them with a smile far too gentle for a R'lyehian empress.

Merag responded with a stiff bow. So this is where the crown prince got his fragility from. Well, that was better for her, Merag thought. Ceasing the war would be much easier with a soft person at the head.

Both rulers motioned to their admirals, and everyone took their seats. The table between them was polished to a shine and two men had room to stand guard on the edges, but it didn't seem nearly wide enough.

Merag was the smallest, and had to crane her neck to look up at the shortest of the admirals. Her palms were sweaty, and the deck seemed stuffy even in the open air.

"Good day, Lady Merag." Lady Ilene's voice was sweet and serene. "How are you today?"

The question caught her so off guard, she had to breathe in her surprise. "Quite well."

"I'm glad. Now, shall we begin?"

"Yes, lets."

Ondyne lounged on her palm, twirling her loose dark blue waves into tight springs. "Your husband must be in a good mood to have agreed to this."

"The timing was poor for all of us."

"I'm sure! Prince Vector must appreciate seeing his father after all this time."

It was several moments before Lady Ilene answered. "R'lyeh has lost plenty of good men. Let's not continue the trend." She sat up, firm and unyielding as she announced, "As the Empress of the Divine Empire of R'lyeh, acting on behalf of the absent Emperor Asteron, I hereby accept the offer for open discussion by Queen Merag of Telos."

Merag's spine tightened. "And of course," she replied, her voice cool and even, "this means that all battles will cease, and this war will officially come to an end. All R'lyehian ships are to withdraw from the neutral waters of the border."

Merag couldn't tell whether the empress' eyes were lit by concern or pleasure. "I'm afraid I can't accept those terms the way they are now."

"If there's no restrictions on the borderlands, then this could just happen again in a year," Blackray grumbled.

"If I agreed, then patrolling the border from our side would be impossible. That's too much of a liability."

Merag pursed her lips and cast a stray glance at Harpyia. The duchess' eyes were thin, but her lips weren't curved down. She breathed a small sigh of relief and turned back to the empress and her admirals. "How about this, then? The only ships allowed by the border are patrol ships. No R'lyehian vessel can cross into our territory without automatically declaring an act of war. An exception would be trade ships, documented and approved of by both sides."

"That sounds more than reasonable," said one of the R'lyehian admirals. "As long as Telos does the same."

"It's no longer just Telos," Merag said, her voice swelling in her throat. "Telos, Arion, Rhode, and Despoine have joined together. We are now the United Lands of the Poseidon Ocean."

The admirals muttered to each other, but Lady Ilene only allowed herself a small blink before regaining her calm smile. "And you are its new queen, Lady Merag?"

"I am."

"I see. That explains your coordination on the battlefield. I'm impressed."

"You took that surprisingly well," Ondyne drawled. "No cursing us out or giving us ugly looks." Her gaze trailed over the R'lyehian admirals, and they all fiercely glared back.

Lady Ilene didn't as much as flinch. "You mobilized very quickly. It's admirable."

"Huh. I wonder how many of your admirals agree with you."

Blackray grimaced at Ondyne, but Merag said nothing. The enemy was tense and impatient.

"Regardless," Merag said with an intrusive cough, "We will follow the same rules as well. We also call for the immediate release of any prisoners of war on either side."

"I shall send out the order the moment this conference finishes."

"I'll order the release myself."

"If you would."

"Now, regarding war reparations-"

Lady Ilene held up a hand. "Are you declaring yourself the victor?"

Merag blinked in surprise. "No, of course I'm not."

"Then that won't be necessary."

She balled her fists under the table. Deep breaths, deep breaths. "Why is that?"

"War reparations are only paid by the losing side," one of the R'lyehian admirals spoke up, "R'lyeh didn't win, but neither did Poseidon. Neither side has to pay anything."

Merag's lips tightened and Ondyne snorted by her side, but she didn't protest. "I see. In that case, then shall we call a ceasefire between our two countries, empress?"

Lady Ilene smiled. "That sounds more than reasonable."

If there was a flaw with the R'lyehians, it was their determination. If they ever saw a flaw in each other, it was kindness. Kindness ruins plans with the best intentions. Lady Ilene was kind, and in her pliable words there was an absolute certainty. For a moment, Merag thought it might have been easier to deal with the harsh emperor Asteron.

"Now would you sign off on our agreement?"

"Sign?" Lady Ilene pursed her lips. "Is my word not enough?"

"Of course it is," Harpyia spoke up, her gaze as cold as always, "_Your _word, that is. We need a little more proof that this will be a long-lasting ceasefire, and not something Lord Asteron can reverse on a whim."

Lady Ilene chewed her cheek, but slowly nodded. She gestured to one of her attendants, and he quickly brought over a brush and a container of ink. "Very well. Shall I transcribe our agreement?"

Merag shook her head, and gestured back to her own attendants. "That won't be necessary." A bony girl hurried over and carefully laid out a piece of rolled up parchment on the meeting table. "We've been transcribing our agreements entire time. Please read it over, and if you find this satisfactory, then please sign off on it. If not, you are more than welcome to write up a revision, and our side will review it in turn."

Lady Ilene took the paper with her slender fingers, and scanned it over. Her lips looked flat, but when Merag squinted, she thought she spotted a faint tease of a smile playing on the empress' lips. She read every word, and finally swished her brush across the page. Her handwriting was elegant, making the stiffest of glyphs look gentle. All the R'lyehian admirals signed it harshly enough to bleed ink through the back.

Merag felt ashamed of her signature beneath Lady Ilene's lovely script. Nasch's print was stalwart from his hours of transcribing scrolls. As the future queen of Telos, Merag had spent hours perfecting only her name on paper. Her new title pooled ink and was horribly slanted. She sighed at the sight. She was still young. The moment she returned to Telos, she was working on her penmanship.

Once Blackray's blocky print finished off the document, Lady Ilene stood and her admirals followed suit. "Now, this dreadful war is over."

"At this rate you'll be writing up a peace bargain next time we all meet," Ondyne blew once on the document before rolling it up so tight it was no wider than a brush.

Lady Ilene only smiled. "And Lady Merag?"

Merag had stood with one foot back towards her ship, but she gracefully turned back around. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's a war. People die on both sides."

Lady Ilene shook her head. "I meant your parents."

Merag's throat tightened.

"I wish we could have concluded something before they died. Your parents seemed like good people, and Poseidon is a lovely place."

"With all due respect, Lady Ilene, my parents can no longer make decisions for me. And I'm not interested in marrying your son."

"That's a shame. Well, there's always other possible ventures for peace. I hope we can reach an agreement at a later time. Have a safe trip back." She inclined her head in an elegant curve before turning her back.

Merag walked back in silence, keeping her gaze away from the sun.

Her cabin was more dim than she remembered. The darkness beat at the slivers of sunlight and covered the room in heavy veils. She didn't speak for a long time, and blindly focused on the flickering candlelight. There was chatter all around her, Ondyne speaking rapidly about something, but she was hardly paying any attention.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Merag glanced towards Harpyia. The duchess looked discontent behind her blue powdered lids, but she hid her frown behind her fan. Their eyes connected, and Harpyia tapped her fan lightly on Merag's shoulder. "Good work. It's always helpful to let Ondyne talk a lot."

"It is _not_!" Blackray insisted, shooting Ondyne a harsh glare. "She's irresponsible and rude!"

Harpyia scoffed. "You're certainly a gift, Blackray."

Blackray's cheeks were dusted with with red, but with a huff, his irritation was gone. "Harpyia, you were too quiet," he quietly said, "Did something happen?"

"Did something happen?" Harpyia muttered, clicking her fan shut with a swish of her wrist. "I wonder."

Merag and Harpyia exchanged glances. "Are we thinking the same thing?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, my queen."

The more she entertained the thought, the more her chest felt like an anchor. Merag took a deep breath. "I think— Lady Ilene was telling the truth."

Ondyne frowned. "No way! It's a typical R'lyehian bluff. If they act innocent enough and we'll have no choice but to believe them. Obviously it's a cheap lie!"

"She was too sincere, Sylphie."

Even Merag was surprised when Ondyne started coughing violently. Her voice was scratchy and hoarse as she sputtered out, "I'm sorry Merag, I can't make it today. I've got an awful headache and I think I'm catching a cold. I promise to make it up to you, okay?" She was back to normal in less than a second. "See? Didn't I sound convincing? It's easy to change your voice and sound sincere."

Harpyia pursed her lips. "I have to agree with Lady Merag."

"You're kidding," Ondyne crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Are you both trying to say the empress of her own empire doesn't even know what really happened?"

"_We_ don't even know what really happened," Blackray added in, "It seems she can't know something she wasn't responsible for."

"It was obviously an assassination."

"Except we don't have any proof. It's an impossible crime."

"So is Lord Asteron innocent as well? He wanted to kill Merag's parents for a really long time!"

Harpiya rolled her eyes, "Lord Asteron's horrible at lying, and Lady Ilene doesn't seem to know anything. An assassination requires manpower and a chain of command. There are people to do the killing, people to row the ships, blacksmiths to forge extra weapons. Someone would have slipped by now if they were really behind it. Until something comes up otherwise, it was just a tragedy. Unless you witnessed something else to say otherwise, Ondyne?"

Ondyne grumbled and waved dismissively.

"I can't believe that it was just… bad weather." Merag paused, and thumped her back against her chair. She wanted to laugh, but she felt nauseous and claustrophobic at the same time. "I think… I liked it much better when I had someone to blame."


End file.
